


where you lead, i will follow (unless it's in 4/4 time, then we're screwed)

by swansaloft



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Humor, Romance, because why not, danceathons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6602107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swansaloft/pseuds/swansaloft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I hope you know I intend to kill your mother for this.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“Thought you’d decided to give up on that particular life goal.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“She merely hadn’t given me sufficient incentive in a while. I’ve decided this qualifies.”</i>
</p><p>In which there is a twenty-four hour danceathon, sleepover games make an appearance, and someone gives Zelena a megaphone. (Or, What Happens When Mary Margaret Watches Gilmore Girls)</p>
            </blockquote>





	where you lead, i will follow (unless it's in 4/4 time, then we're screwed)

**Author's Note:**

> You don’t need to be familiar with Gilmore Girls to read this fic, but it is massively inspired by “They Shoot Gilmores, Don’t They?” Because what would make my tied-for-favorite episode even better? Lesbians. Obviously.
> 
> And because what 1940s themed danceathon fic would be complete without visual aids:
> 
> [Regina’s dress](http://images.esellerpro.com/2516/I/241/18/hell-bunny-4286-nell-dress-1.jpg) (the red one)  
> [Emma’s dress](http://www.miss-candyfloss.com/images/531shl-pl-green-side.jpg)  
> [Snow’s dress](http://www.miss-candyfloss.com/images/658slv-wi-pl_vb_front.jpg)  
> [A website you shouldn’t visit unless you want to lose an hour wishing you had money and a reason to invest in a full retro wardrobe](http://www.miss-candyfloss.com/index.php?cPath=81)
> 
> Set in some hazy future date when Robin and Hook are out of the picture, our ladies are friends, and basically all is as it should be, minus the kissing part. Enter me.

 

**Hour One: In Which Snow’s Demise Is Contemplated for Neither the First Nor the Last Time**

 

“I hope you know I intend to kill your mother for this.”  
  


Emma smirks. “Thought you’d decided to give up on that particular life goal.”

 

“She merely hadn’t given me sufficient incentive in a while. I’ve decided _this_ qualifies,” Regina huffs, waving a hand to indicate their surroundings.

 

The aforementioned surroundings are currently comprised of dozens - hundreds? seriously it’s kind of hard to breathe - of people squashed together in the Storybrooke High gymnasium. Dancing. For the next twenty-four hours. In 1940s period costume. (Honestly, do these people have nothing else to _do_ at o’dark thirty on a Saturday? Like, say, sleep? But then again, who is she to talk, she’s here, too. And _of_ _course_ everyone showed up, because this is Storybrooke, and as sheriff, Emma is aware that most of the businesses planned on shutting down today and that the town will probably be operating at Wild West Ghost Town levels of abandonment for the near future).

 

Emma hasn’t had nearly enough coffee for this, which is why she keeps finding her eyes drifting toward Regina’s lips in that vivid red lipstick. She’s just not fully caffeinated. She can’t control where her gaze strays when it’s only a few minutes past six in the morning and those superbright lips are probably the closest thing to the sun she’s going to see for the next twenty-four hours.

 

The shade should look garish, she thinks. It would on her. But somehow it brings out the glow of Regina’s naturally golden complexion. It also complements her dress, a gorgeous, deep red swing dress with little cap sleeves and a diamond cutout neckline.

 

“You didn’t have to say yes.”

 

Regina scowls. “And risk Snow White’s incessant guilt-tripping for the next six months? I’ll pass.”

 

“Just saying. It was your decision. You should probably accept it and move on - I say with the utmost love and respect, as your best friend. And the person who has to stay in actual physical contact with you for the next twenty-four hours. Not that my opinion isn’t completely objective.” She follows it up with her best cheesy _you know you love me_ smile.

 

The brunette rolls her eyes, but her frown has transformed into a grimace that is looking suspiciously like a held-back smile, and Emma knows she doesn’t hate this quite as much as she pretends to. _Quite._

 

Their hands are clasped comfortably together in front of them, and they move back and forth in tandem with the slow beat of the music. The first ten minutes is the warm-up music, Emma knows from her mother’s excited ramblings. She is pretty sure she’s falling back asleep on her feet, though, and hopes the beat picks up soon.

 

Almost as if by magic, the slow tune ends, and something that actually involves some drums and horns starts up. Much better.

 

Emma takes a deep breath ( _okay_ , yes, it’s actually a yawn, but hopefully her last one for a while), shakes out her limbs, and gives Regina a smile.

 

“Here we go.”

 

The energy in the room is doubled, tripled, quadrupled, almost immediately. Eyes are opening, legs are flailing, and Emma even sees one couple to her right attempt a lift. Probably a bad idea while the floor is still this crowded, but she applauds the spirit.

 

They catch a glimpse of Henry and Paige a few feet away and wave. Their son waves back, still sleepy-eyed and hair damp from his shower, but looking remarkably dapper and way too grown up in his costume. The couple dances away, and Emma turns her attention back to her partner.

 

She and Regina stick to the basic one-two-rock-step pattern, and even that is a little rough at first. She is so careful not to step on Regina’s feet that she accidentally stomps on her own, and she lets out a mangled “ _Fu-”_ but manages to end it in a garbled mess of sound that isn’t exactly a curse but isn’t exactly not, either. Regina’s eyes shine with mirth, and even though Emma’s little pinkie toe is stinging something fierce, she kind of wants to laugh, too.

 

**Hour Two: In Which Emma Is Grateful**

 

Emma is now fully awake, having enjoyed approximately thirty minutes of dancing up a storm before she realized they should probably slow down, or they won’t make it to Hour Four without collapsing. They’re keeping steady half-time now, which, while perhaps not quite as entertaining, is more sustainable and also less likely to result in injury.

 

Plus, it makes it easier to talk, not that they’ve been doing too much of that. But it’s been a fun hour of enjoying the music and observing all the others in the crowd. It’s interesting to see all the differing levels of skill and dedication to the time period. Some people did no more than slapping on a dress or khakis (Little John), and some went full-out including details such as makeup and hair (Belle).

 

While looking around, Emma catches a glimpse of one of the water stations. There’s one on each end of the gym, as Emma is sure Whale has no desire to be overrun with dehydrated dance dropouts. Two mammoth boxes of protein bars and apples also sit alongside each water station, the only sustenance provided for the dancers except for the sandwiches that will be doled out by Granny during the meal break in Hour Twelve.

 

“Water break?” Emma suggests, and Regina nods.

 

They maneuver over to the edge of the dance floor, careful to stay together and moving, inside the marked boundaries.

 

Emma takes a swig from her water bottle, shifting slowly back and forth on her feet, and she watches as Regina does the same.

 

“Thanks for being my pinch hitter, by the way. I know you didn’t want to do the whole dancing thing.”

 

Regina shrugs. “It’s for a good cause. And as mayor, it probably is good for me to set an example for the people.”

 

Emma frowns. “But you weren’t even going to do it.”

 

“I had an acceptable reason not to,” she says, referring to the fact that she had been planning to stay home and watch baby Neal and Caroline, Zelena’s daughter. “You should be thanking Aurora. She’s the one who wound up on babysitting duty.”

 

“I’ll send her a note when we get home.”

 

**Hour Three: It Was the Best of Plans, It Was the Worst of Plans**

 

“So, how long do you think we have to stay in this thing?” she asks, speaking up for the first time in a good ten minutes.

 

“You’re the one who entered in the first place; I’m merely your back-up. What _was_ your plan?”

 

“My plan _was_ hingeing on the fact that my dance partner was going to be a fifteen-year-old boy whose stomach wouldn’t allow him to go more than six hours without a meal.”

 

Regina throws her head back and laughs.

 

“I should pretend that I’m offended you would use our son in that manner, but, well…”

 

“It’s brilliant?” Emma smirks.

 

“Rather,” Regina says, grinning. “Unfortunately for you, it was not infallible.”

 

“Darn that sneaky Paige and her sudden desire to go dancing with our son.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure her poor date’s sudden food poisoning disaster was all part of her grand scheme to get Henry on the dance floor instead. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t followed up on that yet, Sheriff,” Regina mocks.

 

“Eh, she wouldn’t have left any evidence behind anyway. She’s too smart. Did Henry tell you about their last science project?”

 

“Yes, I happened to be at the same dinner table you were when he discussed it. At our home.”

 

Emma waves one hand, careful to keep the other grasped around Regina’s fingers so they don’t lose contact. “Details. I can’t keep track of where you are all the time.”

 

Regina just gives her a look at that. Because Emma _may_ be the one who insists that everyone in the family all keep the Find My Friends app installed on their phones in case of danger. And _maybe_ she has attempted to run to Regina’s rescue a couple times, only to find out that she’s not in any danger whatsoever.

 

But this is freaking Storybrooke, okay. She can’t be faulted for being overly careful. How was she to know Regina would _willingly_ spend three hours with the Blue Fairy of all people? Something about the woman has always struck Emma as suspicious. No one should look that serene in a nun’s outfit, especially not a woman who isn’t even in the profession.

 

So, yeah. She may have become a bit of a running joke among the people closest to them, but if it’s a contest between keeping her family safe and being the butt of a joke, she’ll take being made fun of every time. Something that her nearest and dearest are apt to take advantage of with annoying regularity.

 

(Ruby once threatened to set her custom ringtone to one of those obnoxious novelty ones, so her phone would scream “It’s THE WIFE” along with a warning siren every time Regina calls her. Which, fine, is usually at least once a day, but that’s what friends do. They call each other. It’s a good thing. She said as much Ruby, and the other woman just smirked unapologetically.

 

“Friends who want to see each other naked, maybe.”

 

“ _Ruby_ ,” she hissed, glancing around, but there were only a few other patrons in the diner, and they were all far enough away that she was safe.

 

“What? Are you denying it?”

 

Emma gritted her teeth. “That’s not what we are. And you can’t just go around saying crap like that.”

 

Ruby just gazed at her knowingly. “That’s not an answer.”)

 

Since then, Emma has been careful to never let her phone out of her possession around Ruby. She has no doubt the brunette would do it.

 

“So, have you decided?” Regina asks, and Emma blinks, confused, before remembering the topic of their discussion. Strategy. Dancing time. Right.

 

“Nah. How about we just go until we decide to stop? After all, the longer we dance, the more money we raise, right?”

 

The money earned by the fundraiser goes directly into the Fine Arts fund for the Storybrooke school district, and Henry is ecstatic for what it might mean for the drama department.

 

Regina nods in agreement. “That sounds acceptable.”

 

“It’s a plan.”

 

**Hour Four: In Which Emma’s Year Is Made**

 

“Emma! Regina!”

 

So far, it has been pretty easy to avoid her parents in the mash of bodies, other than their first circuit around the dance floor where Snow was calling out her thanks to all the participants and greeting every single person. She is, after all, the main force behind this entire event.

 

“There you are!” Snow and David do some synchronized move and then spin until they’re directly in front of the two women.

 

“Impressive,” Emma states, eyeing her parents in surprise.

 

“We may have asked Archie for a private swing dance lesson or two,” Snow blushes. “We wanted to be able to set a good example.”

 

“Well, they certainly paid off,” Regina says diplomatically. “It looks like this entire affair is a success, actually. I know you didn’t have as much time to organize this as you’d have liked, but you did an excellent job.”

 

Snow glows in that way she does when Regina directs a kind word her way. Their relationship hasn’t been truly strained for a long time, but Emma is pretty sure Regina purposefully holds back just because she can.

 

“Thank you. I did what I could. I’m just glad it was a hit with everyone! And really, all the thanks should go to you, Regina. The Arts are always in need of more money than our usual fundraiser brings in, and if you hadn’t suggested I watch Gilmore Girls, I never would have come up with this idea!”

 

If Emma didn’t actually spend so much time with Regina, perhaps she would have missed the way Regina’s eyes widen ever-so-slightly at the comment. But, well. They live in the same house and co- parent a son and basically wind up spending a lot of time in each other’s presence. So she’s pretty attuned to the minutiae of other woman’s expressions.

 

Emma narrows her eyes. “Wait. _You_ are the one who introduced her to Gilmore Girls?”

 

“I’d merely seen the it when I was browsing through Netflix. It looked like something she would like,” Regina says dismissively. And Emma doesn’t even need her roommate-slash-best-friend observation skills for her inner lie detector to ping at that. She holds back a smirk and pretends to nod and let it go.

 

“Oh, and Emma!” Snow interjects. “I love your outfit! You never told me you bought one.”

 

Emma glances down at the olive green swing dress with its v-neckline and flared skirt. Honestly, she’d just clicked around Pinterest on her phone last night until she found something that looked right, then saved it to her phone. After a quick shower this morning, she magicked it right up, along with her hair and makeup. She feels a little bit like she cheated, but not enough to feel guilty. She does attempt to avoid Regina’s gaze, though, because she knows the other woman did the exact same thing. Their expressions must give them away anyway, because Snow tilts her head in disappointment.

 

“You did all of it with magic? Both of you? Half the fun is getting ready!”

 

David silently shakes his head in the background and mimes looking at his watch and then sleeping.

 

Snow rolls her eyes and smacks him on the shoulder.

 

“Sorry, I’m with Dad on this one,” Emma says. “Sleep is good. Besides, Regina didn’t even know until last night that she was doing this! How do you think we would’ve gotten her an authentic dress?”

 

“Well, perhaps not for her. But you could have-”

 

“Yours looks great, though!” Emma jumps in over her.. Snow is mildly perturbed at being interrupted, but her happiness at the compliment takes over.

 

“Thank you! I spent all week working on it.”

 

She chatters on for a while longer about her dress, but one of the dwarves beckons Snow over as soon as the next song starts. Her parents wave farewell and bounce away.

 

Emma turns back to Regina, and they dance without any further conversation for a few seconds before Emma brings the subject back around.

 

“So...funny thing. You don’t browse Netflix. You _hate_ when I browse Netflix.”

 

Regina rolls her eyes. “Can you blame me? Any time you and Henry decide to ‘browse,’ it’s an hour of bored scrolling, and we wind up watching something none of us even wanted to watch in the first place.”

 

“One, I know you secretly love Pawn Stars, so don’t even try to deny it. And Two, stop trying to deflect. Not once has Gilmore Girls been on our queue or our Recently Watched. And that’s all you do.”

 

Regina sighs, knowing Emma isn’t going to let this go. “You know I lived alone for many years. Henry was my only company. One has to do _something_ to stay entertained, and even my library has its limits.”

 

The grin that’s been threatening finally breaks free, and Emma practically punches the air.

 

“I knew it!”

 

She’s obviously wondered before. Like that time when Elsa was in town and Emma was trying to make things better for Regina, and Regina basically described your average 90s sleepover. Emma _had_ to wonder where on earth she had gotten the idea of calling Robin Hood and hanging up. But there are still some things that Regina doesn’t like to discuss as a rule, and the frozen Storybrooke decades are among them. So she has refrained from bringing it up.

 

But Regina isn’t showing any signs of being anything other than mildly annoyed, which is basically Emma’s favorite state to keep her in. (It works out well, as she tends to have a particular talent for doing so.)

 

“What else did you watch? Full House? Facts of Life? Oh my _god_ , tell me you didn’t watch Dawson’s Creek.”

 

Regina recoils. “I _do_ have standards, Miss Swan.”

 

At this point in their relationship, Regina only calls her that when they’re joking or when she’s seriously pissed off, so this is another sign that she is still treading in safe territory.

 

“This is the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

 

“I fail to see what’s so amusing. You already knew I watched television. We’ve discussed Law & Order before.”

 

“Yeah, but _everyone_ watches Law & Order. This is a whole new world. I’ve now moved on to visualizing you with a LiveJournal account. Did you ever read fanfiction?”

 

Regina’s brow wrinkles. “Fan what?”

 

Damn. There goes her visual of the uptight mayor secretly reading smutty fanfiction in one of those power suits. More likely, she would gravitate toward the stories with actual plot and would be one of those killjoys who only review to point out grammatical errors and mistakes in characterization.

 

“Nothing. Don’t look it up.”

 

“Okay,” Regina agrees hesitantly. “If you’re quite finished?”

 

“Not for a while.”

 

Emma passes the rest of the hour quizzing Regina on the shows she watched, and Regina humors her with vaguely amused nonchalance. She gets a withering look when she suggests Beverly Hills 90210 as a contender but is more surprised than she should be when Regina reveals she’s seen every episode of The X-Files, including the later years.

 

She mentions a few shows that were before Emma’s time, and Emma doesn’t pass up the opportunity to make a remark about her age.

 

Regina shoots her a flat, unimpressed glare. “I’d watch my words if I were you. You are aware I could just walk away and disqualify you at any moment?”

 

“Come to think of it, you probably should. Wouldn’t want you to fracture a hip.”

 

Regina’s jaw drops, but she can’t hold back her incredulous laugh, and she shakes her head ruefully like _I can’t believe I’m not threatening you with bodily harm right now_. And even as her eyes narrow in mock outrage, her lips are turned up, and the familiarity, the fondness, the lightness of the whole situation just does something to Emma, has her chest ballooning with some kind of ecstatic delight, her heart ready to kick its way right out of her ribcage.

 

Emma is seized by the sudden and suspiciously natural urge to pull Regina forward and lay a quick kiss on her lips, like it’s something they do every day and not something that would wind up with her slapped and disqualified. But then, almost as if she can read Emma’s thoughts, Regina’s eyes drop to her mouth, and suddenly knowing how to breathe is a distant memory. Because this isn’t new territory for them; Regina’s been looking at her mouth from time to time since that long ago day with a chainsaw and a beat under an apple tree when she could feel the brunette’s breath on her lips. It’s usually easy to write off: they’re too close, too stressed, too _something_. But now they’re not fighting, and it’s just the two of them, Emma and Regina-

 

\- except it isn’t, a fact that is emphasized when Archie gets a little too enthusiastic with his jive and accidentally elbows Emma in the side.

 

She stumbles forward, a little off balance, and Regina’s fingers close over her forearms to help steady her, the touch firm but gentle. They’re even closer together now, but Regina is busy shooting the man a glare over Emma’s shoulder.

 

Archie apologizes profusely, and Emma waves it off with an expression she hopes looks more like a smile than a grimace. His partner apologizes, too, a petite woman Emma recognizes as Tiana, the Zumba instructor from Storybrooke Gym. They’ve obviously paired up strategically, Archie having revealed himself to be quite the dancer in recent months, teaching ballroom dance lessons on the weekends.

 

“I know you two are in it to win it, but they can kick you out for sabotage, you know,” Emma says in mock reproach.

 

“We’ll just have to be more covert about it, then,” Tiana winks before sobering. “I really hope you’re okay, though.”

 

“I’m fine. Just watch those elbows, alright?” she says as they go their separate ways, and another couple Emma vaguely recognizes from Granny’s starts maneuvering between them. Archie sends her a thumbs up before turning away. When Emma rotates back toward her partner, Regina is looking at her with concern.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

She gazes down at Emma’s side, fingers slightly extended like she wants to touch wherever Emma is hurting.

 

The spot on her ribs is a little tender, but she’s had much worse in her time. “It’s nothing. Just a bruise.”

 

Regina’s hand hovers for a second longer, and Emma wants her to reach out and touch her but not to heal. Just so she can feel it.

 

But this kind of thinking is going to get her nowhere, so she grabs Regina’s outstretched hand in hers and pushes out and back in, rock-stepping perfectly in time with the music.

 

Regina’s surprised but pleased. “Where did that come from?”

 

“I have my ways,” Emma winks, and this time Regina grins back, Emma’s injury forgotten.

 

**Hour Five: Wherein Regina Is Totally the Big Sister**

 

“We have now reached Hour Five, ladies and gents. Even though I am practically falling asleep watching what some of you call dancing, at least you are still on your feet. And for that, I suppose I’m required to applaud you.”

 

Emma glances at redhead up on the platform. “I can’t believe someone thought it was a good idea to give Zelena a megaphone.”

 

“Your mother asked if I had any suggestions when I turned her down for the job. And, well, my sister _does_ love to hear herself talk,” Regina says dryly. This is a fact that Emma is more than aware of, as Zelena has has lived in the furnished basement of the mansion with her daughter Caroline for over a year now. The girl is starting to be just as talkative as her mother, whether or not the words are actually, well, words. “She loved the idea. Thought it would be a good idea to have someone in charge that people are still a little bit scared of.” Regina pauses, sobering before she continues, “And I also think it’s good to have her involved in town things. I...know some people still don’t accept her. And that she isn’t sure this is the place for her, even with me here.”

 

Emma squeezes their already clasped hands and gives Regina a supportive smile. Regina shoots her a small thankful one which then suddenly grows with wry amusement, and she leans forward like she’s about to spill a secret.

 

“I did have to pay her fifty bucks to promise to not call anyone ‘my pretties,’ though.”

 

Emma snorts. Regina glances once more at her sister, then abruptly frowns. “Isn’t Deputy Fa on duty today?”

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

Regina nods toward the platform where Zelena has stepped over to the side, partly behind a decorative banner, talking, sure enough, to Mulan.

 

Emma shrugs. “I’m sure she’s just making the rounds. Not exactly a lot to do in the middle of the day when most of the town is crammed in here. But as for Zelena, yeah. They’ve been hanging out a lot lately. Didn’t you know?”

 

“She mentioned it once. But I didn’t realize…” She trails off when Mulan’s hand comes to rest briefly on Zelena’s forearm and the two share a private smile before the deputy strides back off the way she came.

 

“Are they…?”

 

“Pretty sure, yeah. I mean, Mulan’s not exactly talkative, but Zelena’s been by to see her on her lunch break like three times in the past week.”

 

“Oh.” Regina looks almost crestfallen all the sudden, and Emma gets it.

 

“Really, it isn’t any of my business, and I may be wrong, anyway. But if they _are_ involved, I’m sure she’ll tell you when she’s ready.”

 

“I just...hope she knows that she can confide in me. That I’m here for her.”

 

“I’m sure she knows. But she’s a grown woman. I sometimes forget you’re the younger of the two of you. You’re _such_ a big sister.”

 

Regina is still staring at Zelena a little wistfully, and Emma isn’t sure exactly what is driving the expression. But Regina turns her gaze back to Emma, her eyes still emotional but her tone conversely matter-of-fact.

 

“I’m protective of the people I love, Emma. You’re well aware of that.”

 

Emma is suddenly conscious of the strength of her heartbeat as she stares back into deep brown eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

 

**Hour Six: In Which Emma Has a Problem**

 

Emma massively has to pee. Like, holy cow and cats and dragons and ogres, ready to start praying to deities she doesn’t even believe in, thirty seconds away from wetting her pants.

 

Everyone is allowed two yellow cards for the entirety of the danceathon, and using one gets you a ten minute break. As long as one half of the couple remains active on the dance floor, the other is allowed to be elsewhere for that stretch of time

 

You must use the yellow cards wisely, and Emma’s strategy was to hold it until she couldn’t hold it any longer.

 

And she’s officially reached that point.

 

“Yellow card time?” Regina asks, and Emma’s head snaps toward her, startled.

 

Regina rolls her eyes. “You’ve been sighing and staring at the bathroom for the past twenty minutes. Not to mention you’re so bouncy people probably think we’re doing the Jitterbug. Not exactly the definition of stoic.”

 

“I had a strategy,” Emma says with as much superiority as she can muster. “And yes, for your information, I was about to use my first one.”

 

She fishes her yellow card out of the side of her bodice and holds it up, marching off the floor to the restroom. She does her best to pretend that a) she was not just sent to the bathroom like a helpless child by the woman she’s pretty sure she’s in love with, and b) this is a casual trip and she totally isn’t going to run over literally anything that gets in her path.

 

She probably isn’t super successful at that last part, because Ella looks like she’s about to dance over and say hi but instead catches a glimpse of Emma’s face and moves quickly out of her way instead.

 

Emma doesn’t even care.

 

Ten minutes later, she turns in her first yellow card and returns to the dance floor considerably more relaxed. She took the rest of the break to sit down, as they’re just now a fourth of the way through the danceathon. And while she might not be in it to win it, her competitive side combined with her belief in the cause means that they’re probably going to be here for a while longer.

 

Regina reaches for her hand, and Emma feels her feet begin to move again.

 

**Hour Seven: Wherein Emma Has, Well, Yet Another Problem**

 

Who the hell decided slow dances should be a thing?

 

Emma likes to think she’s done a pretty good job of ignoring the fact that she’s in extended close physical proximity to most gorgeous woman in two realms. Yeah, she’s had a few close calls and a couple of moments when maybe she glanced down Regina’s neckline because she’s a weak, weak human being.

 

But all in all, she’s seven hours into this thing, and she hasn’t, like, swooned or had a meltdown or anything.

 

But now is the time she’s been dreading (with a good chunk of her being - the part she likes to think of as the sane part) since she put two and two together and realized she was going to be slow dancing with _Regina_ for thirty straight minutes.

 

(“Think of it like the couples’ skate at a roller rink!” Snow says, looking up from the banner she’s painting that says _Storybrooke 24 Hour Danceathon Fundraiser_.

 

“Couples’ skate? Really?”

 

“I spent thirty years as an elementary school teacher in a town that was designed in the 1980s, Emma. You have no idea how many times I’ve been to the roller rink.”

 

“Whatever, that’s beside the point. I mean, obviously there need to be slow songs sometimes or people will drop left and right. But there’s no reason to have an entire section just for couples.”

 

“Why not? It’s romantic! And it’ll be right at the end for most people.”

 

“Need I remind you I’m going to be dancing with my son?”

 

“So? If you even stay in that long, you’ll make grossed out faces together. You’ll ruffle his hair. He’ll pretend to be embarrassed by you. You’ll survive. And those of us who are with our spouses and dates will have some nice time together before we leave.”

 

Emma sighs, knowing she’s been defeated.)

 

“The couples’ portion of the evening has now commenced,” Zelena announces, her accented voice echoing out over the dance floor. “Please enjoy the hopefully dulcet tones of our special guest singers. Remember, this is a family event, so no wandering hands on the dance floor. And those of you who aren’t couples? Well, I’m sure you’ll think of something to make this less uncomfortable.”

 

“She sounds entirely too amused at our plight,” Emma says as the first strains of “The Nearness of You” begin to play.

 

“Did you just say ‘plight?’”

 

“Yeah, so? I can use big words, too.”

 

“I’m aware. That wasn’t a crack at your vocabulary. I just think you might be exaggerating a bit. Unless you truly find dancing with me so off-putting.”

 

Regina’s voice is teasing, but Emma still stumbles over her answer in her rush to get out the right thing.

 

“No, of course not! You’re perfect. I mean, not like that...but it’s still- I mean, you’re- You certainly smell better than Henry, so that’s nice.”

 

 _Oh, god._ Emma’s cheeks might actually be on fire, and Regina’s eyebrows are so high they’ve practically disappeared into her hairline.

 

“So I smell better than a teenage boy. High praise.”

 

“Oh, shut up, you know you smell amazing. That’s why you buy that gazillion dollar perfume you always wear.”

 

She just told Regina she smells amazing. Emma’s face still feels hot, but she tries to keep a straight face and maintain eye contact. She tries to think innocent thoughts. Nothing wrong here. Totally normal. It’s all good. Cool as a cucumber.

 

“Did you know cucumbers are usually several degrees cooler than the air surrounding them?”

 

_Oh, son of a bitch._

 

Regina blinks at the seemingly random question, and Emma blushes again.

 

“I didn’t know that.”

 

“Yeah, I read it somewhere.”

 

“Fascinating.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Emma?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Would you like to-” she motions around them where all the other couples have slid into slow-dance positions, while they are still standing apart in standard swing position with hands clasped between their bodies.

 

“You want to slow-dance with me?” Emma asks, surprised.

 

“We may as well,” Regina answers, shrugging one shoulder. “Give the gossips something to talk about, anyway.”

 

It’s become a sort of running joke between them, the number of times they get asked if they’re a couple yet.

 

Every time it happens, Regina rolls her eyes and Emma blushes and _we’re just friends_ spills from one or both of their tongues, and Emma tries to think she isn’t making up the way Regina sometimes eyes her speculatively afterward.

 

Whatever her motivation, Regina seems in earnest, and Emma swallows.

 

“Sure.”

 

Emma only stands a scant few centimeters taller than Regina when they’re barefoot (Henry measured once), so in her short heels, Regina is slightly taller. But she puts her arms up around Emma’s shoulders anyway.

 

Emma places her hands lightly on Regina’s hips, and the dress material soft to the touch. She licks her lips and swallows again.

 

Oh, she wants to enjoy this. She wants to melt against Regina, to sway their bodies together, to feel the smoothness of their faces pressed cheek to cheek.

 

Instead, Emma is aware of every agonizing inch between them, making sure to stay far enough back that they don’t touch, but not so far back that it seems like she’s purposefully distancing herself from the other woman.

 

One song fades into another and then another, and slowly, Emma stops being so vigilant about the position of their bodies.

 

She lets her eyes drift shut as the music weaves around them, and when their chests brush lightly together, she holds her breath but doesn’t pull away.

 

Neither does Regina.

 

They are close enough now that she can’t see into the brunette’s eyes without pulling back, so she just stays right where she is, swaying from side to side with her hands on Regina’s waist and Regina’s arms around her neck, and it feels so right, she just wants to stay forever.

 

“Emma?” Her voice is lower than usual, and it sends a thrill through Emma.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Do you-”

 

The sound of the air horn announcing Hour Eight cuts her off.

 

**Hour Eight: The End of the Road for Many of Our Participants**

 

The dance floor starts clearing out considerably at Zelena’s announcement that they have officially reached Hour Eight. The danceathon is broken down into three legs of eight hours each, and you pay for as long as you stay. And for most sane people, one leg is more than enough time spent dancing, and they can pay their money and go home and put up their feet. Her parents are among those leaving, as they have to get back to baby Neal, who is less of a baby and more of a toddler at this point, but Emma still calls him that in her head regardless.

 

The music is back in full swing once again, which means they’re back to normal swing dancing position.

 

Except…

 

“Hey, what were you saying earlier? Before the horn?” Emma asks before she can talk herself out of it.

 

“Oh, I don’t remember. Nothing important.”

 

 _Lie_ , Emma can tell, but she isn’t going to pursue it.

 

Instead, she makes a crack about age and memory loss and they’re back on familiar, solid ground.

 

Emma thinks that maybe for once she prefers the shakiness of possibility. Just a little bit.

 

**Hour Ten: Wherein Emma’s Feet Are Officially Throbbing**

 

“So, you said something about killing my mother?” she starts conversationally, and Regina’s eyes snap to hers.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“This morning. You threatened to kill Snow for this whole danceathon thing. I just wanted to let you know I’m in. If my feet don’t fall off first.”

 

Regina huffs in amusement. “Well, as much fun as it would be to finally have you on board, would you prefer to keep your feet?”

 

“Actually, no, I’m really looking at chopping them off as a serious option at this point.”

 

“No, I mean....” Regina gestures meaningfully at her feet, which still feel like they are being alternately stabbed with needles and crushed by a giant boulder from the upside down.

 

“Mean...what?” Emma asks, and Regina sighs. Emma waits for her to say something further, but she doesn’t. She just closes her eyes for a moment, and when she opens them again, Emma feels Regina’s magic swirling into her veins, quickly working its way down to her the balls of her feet where the majority of the pain is, cooling and soothing them.

 

“Are you healing my feet?” Emma hisses quietly, glancing around to see if anyone’s watching them. “Isn’t that, like, cheating or something?”

 

“Why? We’re here for the children. We’re doing our part. There’s no rule that says we have to be miserable while doing so.” Regina shrugs, quirking her lip in a slightly devilish way Emma probably shouldn’t find as appealing as she does.

 

The sensation works it way across the arches of her feet and down to her heels, and the relief is so acute she almost moans.

 

“You’re right. If it’ll help. For the kids.”

 

Regina nods. “For the kids.”

 

**Hour Eleven: Wherein Emma Composes a List**

 

List of things Emma did not think through:

 

• Danceathons do, in fact, involve a crap ton of dancing.

• When one dances for approximately half of an eternity, one is probably going to work up a sweat

• And thus wear out one’s deodorant.

• One does not want to be smelly when one wants to impress one’s dance partner.

 

Since her newly rejuvenated feet are feeling particularly light, Emma has decided that she wants to try some of the moves she’s seen the other couples doing. If they’re here for a while longer, they might as well have a little fun, after all.

 

Except that there are only a couple moves she fancies herself capable of doing without incurring - or inflicting - bodily harm, and both of them involve raising her arms above her head. But she isn’t at all sure about the state of her armpits, and she doesn’t want to repel Regina just when she thinks she might have the hint of a chance. (Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but that slow dance and Regina’s not-question just won’t get out of her head.)

 

Unfortunately, there’s no way to covertly sniff your pits when you a) must remain in bodily contact with your partner at all times, and b) are surrounded on all sides by at least a dozen other couples.

 

Damn.

 

**Hour Twelve: FOOD**

 

The problem with reaching the halfway mark is that you get food.

 

Now, one would think that would be a good thing. Sustenance. Energy. All of that.

 

But no. All it really does is give you hope. _You’ve gotten this far, so surely you can make it to the end!_ the sandwiches practically cheer.

 

Emma takes a bite and looks around at her compatriots, and she’s momentarily seized with happiness and pride and a sense of comradeship with this group. They’ve all made it this far together.

 

And then she realizes that the only thing she’s a part of is a group that thinks it’s a good idea to dance for twenty-four straight hours in a high school gymnasium, and seriously, what has her life become? And what the hell is Granny putting in this peanut butter?

 

Emma polishes off her second sandwich and shakes off her revelry.

 

She stands, runs to the drugstore three blocks down to buy some toothpaste and deodorant, makes quick work of both, and returns with enough time to get a ten minute nap in before Zelena blows the air horn with entirely too much glee and the dancing begins again.

 

**Hour Fourteen: In Which Everyone Hopefully Keeps Their Elbows to Themselves**

 

Thanks to her newly refreshed hygiene, Emma is able to confidently suggest to Regina that they try some of the fancier swing moves.

 

Okay, semi-confidently.

 

After fourteen hours, they obviously have the basics down pat, but she’s still mildly terrified she’s accidentally going to elbow Regina in the face if they attempt anything more complicated.

 

However, Regina takes to her suggestion immediately, so they wonder a little closer to Archie and Tiana, who happily walk them through the steps as they do them.

 

Soon enough, they are able to do a basic swing turn and this fun twisty arm thing that has a name Emma’s already forgotten.

 

They pass the next hour or so practicing their moves and doing them in a variety of combinations. Spin, twisty arm, spin. Basic, spin, basic.

 

It’s surprisingly fun, and no one is injured even once in the process.

 

**Hour Sixteen: Sharing Is Caring**

 

Strangely, the second half of this crazy thing seems to be passing more quickly than the first half.

 

Regina starts yawning, so they slow the dancing back down to their half-time rhythm and move to conversation as a way to stay entertained.

 

It works, of course, because talking to Regina is one of her favorite things, and strangely enough, Regina always seems to enjoy it as well. Emma hasn’t always thought of herself as an exceptional story-teller, but perhaps she’s better at it than she thinks she is.

 

Either way, Regina is laughing hysterically when Emma talks about running after a six foot two skip in Boston after she’d lost one of her four-inch heels in a subway grate. She’d brought him down with her mace. Not by spraying him but by chucking the small cannister at his feet, where he’d tripped over it.

 

They’ve wound all over the place with their stories tonight, discussing one thing and then going off on a tangent and winding up somewhere else entirely.

 

Enough couples have left the dance floor that there’s relative privacy for quiet conversations now, which allows them to slip into more personal discussions.

 

Somehow Regina winds up talking about her childhood, which she rarely ever does. She nearly always keeps to the tales that are particularly amusing or at least diverting, and tonight is no exception. Regina tells about how much trouble she gave her father the first time he tried to put her on a horse - and then the fact that he could practically never get her down again once she finally took to it.

 

In return, Emma tells her about the time when she was eleven and got kicked out of the summer camp for disadvantaged youth because she thought it would be a good idea to let all of the horses out of the stable at two o’clock in the morning.

 

“I’d just read this book about wild horses, right? So I thought that all the horses were obviously being kept there against their will. Never mind that they probably _liked_ having shelter and food and wouldn’t exactly be able to roam free in the city around the camp anyway. I couldn’t even get some of them out of their stalls. They just stood there like, ‘What are you doing, you idiot? Can you at least bring me an apple?’”

 

Regina smiles, and Emma keeps talking.

 

**Hour Eighteen: Wherein Emma Is Tired**

 

They’ve been dancing in silence for a while, giving their voices a rest, and Emma can’t hold back a giant yawn.

 

“I’m just so tired.”

 

Regina’s neck has never looked so inviting (which is saying something, because Regina has this scoop-neck indigo dress she wears sometimes, and she wore it with her hair up last week, and Emma could not. stop. staring.).

 

It’s like Regina reads her mind, because she heaves a longsuffering sigh and mutters “come here” and she’s suddenly tugging her forward, her hands coming up to either side of Emma’s head and guiding it into her shoulder.

 

Emma melts, 76% sure she is going to fall asleep in the next ten seconds, standing up or no.

 

The other 24% of her is noticing how nice Regina smells.

 

But mainly the sleep thing.

 

**Hour Twenty: No, Seriously, Emma Is So Freaking Tired. But This Joke Is Funny, Okay?**

 

“Hey, Regina.”

 

“Hmm?” Regina’s voice is all rumbly next to her ear.

 

“What’s green and says, ‘Hey, I’m a frog?’”

 

“A talking frog.”

 

“A talking- hey!” She lifts her head to shoot the brunette a disgruntled glare.

 

“We just watched that episode last week. Perhaps you shouldn’t be stealing jokes from sitcoms.”

 

Emma just giggles, muttering to herself. “A talking frog.”

 

She leans her head back against Regina’s shoulder.

 

**Hour Twenty-Two: In Which Our Ladies Discuss the Merits of Sleepover Games**

 

Emma gets her second wind eventually and tries to devise further ways to keep them both awake.

 

This is something her parents apparently don’t have a problem with, as Emma notices them walking into the gym and making their way over to the bleachers. Even though it’s...Emma glances at the clock, because her math brain died about four hours ago. Whatever, it’s _way_ too early to be up if you aren’t required to be by some crazy-ass dance marathon. But _of course_ her mother wants to see it through and be there for the final couple hours. It’s her event, after all, and Snow White is nothing if not committed to a cause.

 

Emma gives them a small wave and then turns back to Regina. They’re shuffling from side to side, her arms around Regina’s neck and Regina’s resting lightly on her hips, but they aren’t pressed together anymore.

 

She hears the brunette’s negative response but has to take a moment to remember the original question she asked before she was distracted by her parents. _Wait._ She draws back.

 

“What do you mean, you’ve never played Kiss, Marry, or Kill?”

 

Regina yawns but remains wholly unimpressed. “I hardly see how this is confusing. I did not spend my adolescence in this world, and this doesn’t sound like a particularly adult game.”

 

“You’re right. The grown-up version is-” Emma glances around and furtively mouthes _fuck,_ “-Marry, or Kill, but I figured that one wouldn’t be particularly appropriate for our current surroundings.”

 

“You would be correct. And that doesn’t sound much like an improvement.”

 

“Come on. Everyone has to play it; even foster kids who get pity invites to birthday parties get to play it. It’s like a rite of passage. This is probably the closest we’re ever going to get to having a sleepover, so it’s practically a requirement.”

 

“Does the part where you sleep in my house literally every night not qualify?”

 

“Fine,” Emma pouts. “You choose something, then. I was just trying to be helpful.”

 

Regina sighs. “Okay, explain the rules to me. Maybe it’s better than it sounds.”

 

“It’s pretty much exactly what the name says. I give you three people, and you have to decide which one you’ll kiss, which one you’ll marry, and which one you’ll kill. Then we flip, and you have list three for me.”

 

“That sounds ridiculous. If you only list strangers, how am I to know which one I would most inclined to marry? And if you list people you _do_ know, that just seems like it would turn awkward very quickly. For that matter-”

 

“You know what? We’ll play something else.”

 

“Excellent. What did you have in mind?”

 

“Give me a second. Truth or Dare doesn’t really work when we can’t leave the dancefloor.”

 

“Are we still stuck on adolescent sleepover games? Are you going to break out a Ouija board from your bodice?”

 

“Well, Spin the Bottle was on the list, too, but the bottle’s in my other dress.”

 

Regina shakes her head fondly, her eyes sleepy but sure, and she weighs her next words carefully for a moment before she says them.

 

“If you’d like to kiss me, Emma, you don’t need the excuse of a game to do so.”

 

For the first time in several hours, Emma stops moving. For a beat. Two beats.

 

She stares, completely paralyzed. She might be a statue. Can limbs freeze from too much usage combined with shock?

 

The sudden realization that Regina is moving and she isn’t permeates her consciousness, and almost out of instinct, she grabs Regina’s hands and starts stepping back and forth again.

 

She blinks, takes a breath, stutters out, “What? I mean, I don’t think I under- ...What?”

 

“You heard me.”

 

Emma narrows her eyes. “Am I hallucinating? I haven’t stayed up this long in a while. Oh, god, did I fall asleep?”

 

Regina turns her palm over to give her the smallest, gentlest pinch on the sensitive inside of her wrist. “You’re awake.”

 

Emma stares some more.

 

“But you don’t-”

 

“I do.”

 

“But you never said-”

 

“You never asked.”

 

Emma has no response to that. Because Regina’s right. She never asked. She just assumed.

 

“I am an _idiot_.”

 

Regina just shoots her this expression that is amusement and fondness and exasperation all wrapped up into one, and Emma can practically hear an echo her long-ago comment: _Finally, something we agree on_.

 

Before either of them can say anything else, the air horn toots and Zelena announces Hour Twenty-Three to the three couples left on the dance floor.

 

**Hour Twenty-Three: ...Wait,** _**What** _ **?!**

 

The sound is enough to jolt Emma out of her confession-induced stupor, and she suddenly finds all her words at once.

 

“You choose to tell me this in _public_? With everyone staring at us? With my _parents_ staring at us? I can’t kiss you for the first time with my mother watching!”

 

“Who said you had to kiss me immediately?”

 

“Literally every fantasy I’ve ever had about you. And fair warning, they don’t always stop at kissing.”

 

Regina’s eyes darken. “I look forward to a demonstration, Miss Swan.”

 

 _Oh, god_. So apparently _turned on_ can be added to the _Miss Swan_ list, and Emma is more than a little bit okay with this addition.

 

“Trust me-”

 

She is interrupted with a finger tapping on her shoulder. Emma turns around to find one of the dwarves (Sneezy? Sleepy? She’s pretty sure it’s Sleepy.) standing before them, twisting his hands together.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m sorry, but…” he continues, but his words are so quiet the music swallows them.

 

“Speak up,” Regina says impatiently.

 

He clears his throat and repeats, “You’ve been disqualified.”

 

Emma gapes. “What? Why?”

 

“You stopped dancing and lost contact.”

 

Emma frowns, looking to where they’re still holding hands and moving to the beat.

 

“Not now. Earlier. I didn’t see you. I was-” he breaks off with a yawn. (Yeah, definitely Sleepy.) “-you know. But someone else reported it, and it’s just my job to enforce the rules. I don’t make them. I’m sorry.”

 

He’s practically cowering, and what, does he think Regina’s going to pull an Evil Queen and shoot a fireball at him? Even though Emma’s kind of weirdly disappointed because they made it so far...this means they can leave. Back to a practically empty house where Henry is asleep and Zelena won’t be in for another couple hours. Emma could practically kiss him.

 

Or maybe she just has kissing on the brain.

 

You can’t blame her, really.

 

“Dang it. Oh, well. Rules are rules,” Emma shrugs. “Come on, Regina, let’s go home.”

 

Regina is biting her lip and clearly trying not to laugh at Emma’s less-than-stellar acting skills.

 

Sleepy looks confused but relieved no one is going to set him on fire.

 

“Thank you for participating.”

 

“Our pleasure,” Regina says diplomatically, and her tone is a firm dismissal. Sleepy nods and heads back to his spot on the bleachers where he will no doubt be snoring up a storm in another minute.

 

Emma doesn’t drop Regina’s hand when she starts determinedly toward the donation table. They both pay the appropriate amount for the length of time they stayed, and Emma barely even comprehends the amount Granny reads off to her. She fumbles with her wallet and gets out the money, and it’s like her fingers don’t even comprehend why they’re being forced to touch anything other than Regina.

 

She doesn’t get it either.

 

When she finally finishes paying and turns back to Regina, she finds the other woman staring at her with eyes hot and intense, her bottom lip caught in between her teeth.

 

And _no_ , Emma did not just complete twenty-fucking-something hours of dancing just to have her legs buckle at one single look from Regina, thank you very much.

 

But it’s a closer call than she’d like to admit.

 

How many miles is it to Mifflin?

 

You know what, scratch that. A dark alley will do. A park bench. Maybe a strategically placed telephone pole. They drove together in Regina’s Mercedes. Perfect. She just...it’s like she’s addicted to touching Regina after over twenty hours of her constant presence, and now there’s this promise in the air that there’s going to be so much more than innocent touches, and…

 

Is she shaking? She might be shaking.

 

Then she’s moving and Regina’s moving, and they’re getting closer and closer to the door. Emma’s never been so happy to see a glowing red exit sign in her life.

 

Regina’s hand is on her shoulder, and her skin is burning.

 

Fifteen feet to the door, ten, eight-

 

“Emma! Regina!”

 

Emma should definitely _not_ curse out her mother. It would be bad. So bad.

 

She does give a fleeting thought to pretending she didn’t hear and just poofing them back to the mansion, leaving them to deal with the repercussions tomorrow.

 

But she supposes she should be a mature adult.

 

Snow is beckoning them from the end of the bleachers adjacent to the doors, and Emma racks up an impressive number of curse words in her head in the few seconds it takes her to cross over to her parents and baby Neal.

 

“Don’t forget your phones,” Snow says with a smile, handing over the devices she’s been holding for them.

 

Oh, right.

 

“Right. Thanks,” Emma smiles. She can’t really feel her face.

 

Regina murmurs her appreciation and takes her phone, too.

 

“What happened? You two were so close!”

 

“Ah, I was stupid and got us disqualified. It isn’t a big deal. We still made it most of the way.”

 

“Oh, well. There’s always next year.”

 

Emma pauses. She turns to shoot an incredulous look at Regina, but the other woman seems to be engrossed in something on her phone, typing away. She shifts her attention back to Snow. “Next year?”

 

“Yes! We should definitely make this an annual thing. It went over so well this time! Next year, we could…”

 

Emma is distracted by her phone vibrating, and she glances down to see a text from Regina. _What do you think the grown-up version of Seven Minutes in Heaven would be?_

 

“...don’t you think, Emma?”

 

Emma has no idea what Snow’s question was. She’s not even entirely sure she’s still upright. Or breathing. She should probably breathe.

 

“You know, Snow, I think perhaps we should just keep this a one time thing,” Regina says, thankfully distracting Snow from the fact that Emma is having difficulty with basic life skills right now.

 

“Maybe you’re right,” Snow says, looking disappointed for a minute before perking back up. “Maybe we can try the bid-a-basket thing next year instead!”

 

“Why don’t you contact me with the details on Monday? I’m afraid I am rather exhausted.”

 

Snow blinks for a moment, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Oh goodness, of course! I didn’t even think.”

 

She pulls Emma in for a one-armed hug, then Regina right after.

 

“Thank you so much, both of you. Go get some rest.”

 

“Will do,” Emma finally manages to squeak words out, and she lifts a hand in farewell.

 

And then they’re heading for the exit again finally, finally, finally, and Emma’s going to jump out of her skin soon, but Regina is the one who speeds up the pace when they’re out the door. She even drops her keys when she’s trying to fit the key into the driver’s door, and somewhere in the back of her mind Emma is glad she’s not the only one affected by this, that Regina seems to be just as overwhelmed as she is.

 

And then they’re in the car and she doesn’t even know who technically starts the kiss, but their mouths are touching like they were never meant to be apart.

 

There’s this tremoring, this buzzing in her veins, and she has no idea if it’s adrenaline or magic or something else, but her brain is an endless litany of _Regina’s mouth Regina’s skin Regina Regina Regina_ , and it’s all that’s important right now.

 

Regina’s lips part, and when their tongues meet, Emma loses a little bit of her mind.

 

Regina’s mouth is so warm, and she can’t get close enough.

 

The brunette’s fingers are strong on either side of her head, keeping her close, spearing through her hair, and Emma is trying to find the clip holding Regina’s hair up, so she can do the same. She wants to see her hair down, messy around her shoulders, spread out across a pillow while Emma makes her scream.

 

But the pins or clips or whatever elude her for right now, so she settles for grasping Regina’s hips and pulling her as close as she can manage in their cramped position.

 

The other woman groans, moving one hand down to Emma’s ass and grasping, and Emma might be in heaven except that as wonderful as this is, she needs Regina’s skin, wants to see touch feel taste. And she can’t, not with Regina’s dress in the way.

 

Emma whines in frustration, annoyed not only that she can’t reach where she wants to touch, but also by the fact that Regina’s car keeps making this dinging sound and she wants it to stop. Somehow it penetrates her consciousness that the car is dinging because she didn’t shut her door - which means it’s probably sitting wide open, so they’re putting on a show for the world to see.

 

Not that there’s probably anyone in the parking lot of the high school gymnasium at five in the morning on a Sunday. But still.

 

She manages to tear one hand away and blindly gropes out into the space beside and behind her, moving her other hand to the back of Regina’s head so she can make sure they stay pressed together, even as she scoots backward and twists her arm around.

 

“The hell ‘re you doing?” Regina mumbles against her lips, moving her kisses down to the side of Emma’s neck, sucking on the tender skin there.

 

Emma’s thighs clench at the sensation, and her insides tremble.

 

She waves her hand behind her and stretches out - _aha!_ There’s the door, but she misjudges when she goes to pull it toward her, and instead of closing it, her fingers are slipping, and she’s tumbling back.

 

Thankfully, the fact that she is scooted so far inside the car combined with Regina’s grasp keeps her from falling back onto the concrete. However, she _does_ bang her head slightly on the dashboard.

 

“Ow!”

 

Regina pulls back, frowning.

 

“Are you okay? Why is your door open?”

 

“Because I hadn’t shut it before you leapt on me!”

 

Regina raises a brow. “I don’t believe I was the only one here doing the leaping.”

 

Emma laughs low in her throat. “No, obviously. But I was little distracted when we got in and didn’t shut the door, so I was trying to multitask because I didn’t want to stop kissing you. Doesn’t seem to have worked out for me, though,” she grumbles the last bit, and Regina smirks.

 

“Would you like me to kiss it better?” Regina intones, and Emma holds up a finger, leans back, and shuts her car door before she scoots forward and answers.

 

“ _God_ , yes.”

 

This time Regina kisses her, and Emma doesn’t even remember which side of her head is supposed to be hurting.

 

The kiss grows more and more intense, and her hands are roving again, frustrated by the lack of skin-on-skin contact. She finds the hem of Regina’s dress, sliding one hand up, feeling the soft skin of Regina’s thigh before the brunette groans and pulls away.

 

“No.”

 

Emma stills where she is, opening her eyes to see a very disheveled Regina, lipstick smeared, breathing hard. “Huh?”

 

“We are not having sex for the first time in the front seat of my car.”

 

“I hear you. The back seems pretty spacious, though,” Emma says, twisting around for a glance at the area. Not entirely sure if she’s joking or not.

 

“Emma. Look, I want this as much as you do, but...we’re both extremely sleep-deprived. Why don’t we wait until tomorrow?”

 

Emma laughs incredulously. “Wait, you’re not worried I’m going to change my mind or something? Because let me tell you how much that’s not even going to happen.”

 

“Who said anything about changing your mind? I just don’t want you falling asleep on me. You’re not the only one who’s had fantasies about this,” Regina says with a simmering glance that robs Emma of her ability to breathe...before she turns away and puts the car in gear.

 

Fuck.

 

**Hour...** _**Something:** _ **Wherein The Sun Is Up And They’re Finally Not Dancing**

 

Emma wakes up in Regina’s bed fully clothed, because despite the deliciously enjoyable stretch of time they spent alternating between enthusiastic kissing and yawning and sleepy cuddling, they were both out cold not even twenty minutes after making it back to Regina’s bedroom.

 

The first sound she notices is Regina singing in the shower, her low, slightly off-tune voice rising just above the spray, and her heart warms her body from the inside out. Emma’s grinning before she even thinks about it, and she flips off the covers and scurries to the other upstairs bathroom to brush her teeth and scrub off her smeared makeup. A hurried trip to the kitchen for a granola bar to assuage her growling stomach also ensures that no one is up and about. When she finds a note on the counter that says _Out with Paige. :)_ in Henry’s scrawl, she almost breaks out into a happy dance. Instead, she turns and bounds up the stairs.

 

When she gets back to the bedroom, the shower is off, but Regina still hasn’t emerged. Perfect. She flops down on the bed and runs a hand through her hair. Maybe she should stand. Maybe Regina doesn’t actually want to do this. Although she’d seemed pretty gung-ho about it last night - this morning rather. And-

 

The door opens, and Regina emerges.

 

Her hair is falling in damp strands around her shoulders, and she’s only wearing a plum silk robe that falls to mid-thigh.

 

She looks...vulnerable, almost. But that’s probably just the afternoon sunshine playing with Emma’s eyes and the fact that Regina’s face is bare of all makeup.

 

She looks incredible.

 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Regina greets with gentle mocking. “Glad you decided to join the land of the living.”

 

“Morning,” Emma returns with a smile. “Must have crashed hard. I’m usually a pretty light sleeper.”

 

“Understandable, given the circumstances. I would have preferred it if you didn’t drool on my pillowcase, though.”

 

Emma’s jaw drops. “I did not!”

 

She subtly glances over at the pillow to check, but Regina’s grinning.

 

“No. But you were snoring.”

 

“Ah, sorry.”

 

Regina shrugs a shoulder, stepping closer to the bed. “It’s alright. You’re cute when you sleep.”

 

Emma feels her cheeks flush. “Regina Mills. Are you flirting with me?”

 

“Possibly. Is it working?”

 

“Mmm.” She pretends to think it over, reaching out to grasp Regina’s right hand in both of hers, playing with her fingers. “That depends on what your objective is.”

 

“I’d say I made my objective pretty clear earlier,” Regina says, and her tone sends a shiver down Emma’s spine.

 

“Then yes. Yes, it is.”

 

Emma tugs her hand, and the other woman obliges, moving to stand over her, flush against the bed and directly between her legs.

 

“You know what my favorite kind of objectives are?” Emma whispers.

 

“What kind?”

 

“The ones that involve teamwork.”

 

Regina’s eyes darken, and she climbs onto the bed until she’s straddling Emma’s thighs. Emma gulps.

 

“Lucky for you, that’s exactly what I had in mind.”

 

Her head lowers, and their lips are about to touch when Emma’s phone starts blaring Snow’s ringtone from the other side of the bed.

 

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Emma exclaims. “I’m going to kill her. It’s happening.”

 

Regina presses a fleeting kiss to her lips and rolls away so Emma can get to her phone. “You probably shouldn’t.”

 

It’s a comment that Emma could easily turn into a conversation she would normally get immense enjoyment out of. Instead, she files it away for later, because her mother isn’t even on the list of Top One Hundred And Ninety-Two Things Emma Wants To Discuss Right Now, most of which involve various parts of Regina’s anatomy. She just sends the call to voicemail and silences her phone. On second thought, she turns it off completely. The town will be fine for an hour or five.

 

She turns back, and Regina is lying against down pillows, the vee of her robe parted just enough that Emma’s mouth goes dry at the sight.

 

“Now, where were we…” Regina says, and Emma crawls over to her and her fingers are on Regina’s thigh and her lips are on Regina’s lips and _yes, finally, yes_.

 

Across town, Snow sighs into her phone. “Call me back when you get this, my darling sleepyhead. Archie and Tiana may have won the danceathon, but this basket auction isn’t going to plan itself.”

 

Emma doesn’t get the message for a long, long time.


End file.
